[CONSOLE] video; BACKDATED to 8 JUNE

[gistful]

[When Anton turns on the video he looks a little ruffled. His tie is gone, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and there's blood on his vest, for the observant. His expression is flat but with an edge of exasperation, and behind him ... Behind him is Skulduggery and Erskine. They're bound together with a five-foot length of chain, Erskine with a manacle on his wrist and Skulduggery with a manacle around his neck-bones.

[Skulduggery is missing his hat, and his suit is tattered. Erskine's in obviously clean clothes, but he's missing a jacket, he's limping slightly, his arm is in a sling and he has a spray-bottle. And they're arguing. Loudly. Anton's voice is raised to be heard over them and, perhaps notably, he keeps his hands out of view of the camera.]

Let it be publicly known that these two reprobates are grounded.

[He jerks his head at them without looking around.]

If anyone sees them on the streets while Erskine, that's the ridiculously pretty one, is not wearing a dog-collar, please punch them both and return them to the Midnight Hotel. If anyone finds them not in the company of each other, please, again, punch them and return them to the Midnight Hotel.

Rest assured that the damages they caused will be repaired at their expense and any loss of revenue reimbursed. We'll be by in the next few days to arrange this.

[Pause.]

Ah. Yes. Skulduggery, that's the idiot who's forgotten his skin, has lost his hat privileges. No hats for Skulduggery. Thank you.

[This broadcast is also available as action, for those staying at the Midnight Hotel.]

Comments

always okay!

[unetrustworthy]

[...now there was a mental image.]

I'm certainly not going to do it.

[edgeoftheknife]

Yeah, I... probably won't either. I enjoy my skin in the shape that it's in now--

[Glancing down at the sling on his arm]

--well, more or less. I'd prefer not to lose any more of it. Although maybe if it's that cheap school paste that comes off right away? He can't get too sore about that, can he?

[unetrustworthy]

[She couldn't help noticing the arm, since he did draw attention to it.]

What happened?

[edgeoftheknife]

What, this? I, ah... may have gone through a plate glass window.

[unetrustworthy]

[May have?]

[People were usually far more sure of that sort of thing.]

Were you aware the glass window was there when you went through it? ...or did somebody "help" you?

[edgeoftheknife]

Somebody helped me. [sideways glare at Skulduggery] And I'd prefer to avoid any more help for the foreseeable future. Which I suppose rules out the paste and the hair clips.

[unetrustworthy]

[What great friends you have.]

But not publicly antagonizing him over the Network?

[edgeoftheknife]

[The best, clearly!]

He did throw me through a plate glass window. And shoot me. I think I deserve at least a little retribution, don't you?

[unetrustworthy]

...he shot you?

[It honestly took more self restraint than she thought possible to resist the urge to ask what did you do? in response.]

Why?

[A compromise.]

[edgeoftheknife]

[it's probably for the best]

Ah... yes. Why. That is the question, isn't it? And of course there's an answer. A perfectly sound, logical answer that doesn't paint me in an entirely positive light, I'm afraid. And it's a very long story. Too long, really. I'd be sparing you a good deal of time by not telling you.

Suffice it to say, there was a reason.

single tag threadjack

[skeletonenigma]

Yes. He wouldn't stop talking.

[If Skulduggery's jaw didn't move whenever he speaks, you wouldn't have known he'd said anything at all.]

threadjacking the threadjacks with all the threadjacks~

[unetrustworthy]

[She wasn't entirely sure what kind of reaction he was going for, so...]

I once met somebody who pointed a gun in my face. Twice.

He was the closest thing I ever had to a friend before I came here.

threadjackception??

[edgeoftheknife]

[Ravel's jaw tightens, and he's suddenly finding it difficult to look at either the console or Skulduggery. He settles for staring at the floor, or his shoes. It's still fairly obvious that he's addressing the console when he speaks again, however.]

How old are you, that you've had someone pointing a gun in your face?

[unetrustworthy]

[Truthfully, Midii wasn't entirely sure why she had brought it up. Something about grown men joking about the clearly serious injuries they had caused one another. Talking about shootings as if she were some naive child whose only exposure with a weapon had been a video game.]

[Clearly, that wasn't the case.]

Fourteen. But I was eleven at the time.

[edgeoftheknife]

And is that sort of thing considered normal, where you're from?

[unetrustworthy]

Yes.

If you were caught out in the battlefield. Or a group of rogue soldiers come into town and you don't get out of their way quickly enough. They very rarely actually shot anybody, though. It was mostly just to scare people into doing what they wanted. Or if they were more scared than we were.

[edgeoftheknife]

[...okay what is it with randomly winding up talking to small girls about war. Erskine would very much like this to stop now. Little girls and war should not go together, ever.

In an oddly chipper tone of voice:]

Right, and we've hit the morbidly depressing portion of our evening. I think it's time we diverted this into something more cheerful.

Puppies. Do you like puppies?

[unetrustworthy]

[He was the one who brought up shooting. She was merely following along that particular subject.]

I'm more of a cat person.

[Because of course she is. Although, after a moment's pause:]

...but puppies can be nice, too. Very...energetic.

[edgeoftheknife]

Right, yes. Energetic. Wiggly tails and wet noses and whatnot.

And I've just realized I don't even know your name. Do you have a name?

[unetrustworthy]

[There was once a time when she would have hated to admit as much. Where she came from, names carried baggage. Families. Responsibilities. Identities that one couldn't shake. How many times had she quietly mused her own jealousies of Nanashii? A boy whose moniker literally translated to No Name, because he was completely free of all that.]

I do.

[After so many years in Keelai, however, she readily admitted it.]

It's Midii. Midii Une.

[edgeoftheknife]

Pleasure to meet you, Midii. Have I introduced myself yet?

[It's an honest question. He really doesn't remember.]

[unetrustworthy]

Not formally, no. But I've heard others refer to you as...Rah-vehl, was it?

[An attempt to recall the name she'd heard from memory. It had been a passing conversation, and the name wasn't spoken to her, directly, so her pronunciation might have been slightly off.]

[edgeoftheknife]

Just Ravel--as in unravelling a thread. Erskine Ravel. And depending on who it was referring to me, don't believe half of it.

[unetrustworthy]

...so, what you're saying is that I should believe the other half?

[Congratulations, Ravel, you've discovered her wisecracking side.]

[edgeoftheknife]

Probably. The half where they referred to me as handsome and charming, that's the half you'll want to listen to. Disregard the rest of it, it's probably rubbish.